Chapter 2 #2
“I’m sure you are. You finished off that pasta in record time.
” He squeezes my hip, and that very same pasta threatens to crawl back up my throat.
I’ve never felt comfortable about my body, but I’ve been working hard to overcome that in the last few years.
I am not about to let this prick undo all the work I’ve done.
I’m about two seconds away from telling him to fuck all the way off, the job be damned, when I hear a voice I haven’t heard in months.
“Clover.”
The entire room comes to a halt, or at least that’s what it feels like, and my knees buckle beneath me. Dirk’s hand is still on me, and he catches me. I wish it were someone else.
“Get your fucking hands off her,” that same haunting voice commands. His words are snarled. Angry. Full of rage I haven’t heard from him before.
I turn and look into the same eyes I once swore I loathed, then loved more than anything in the world.
Even though they’re shrouded in darkness, just like they did a decade ago, they remind me of looking into a bottle of whiskey, the good stuff that sits on the top shelf.
My heart rate kicks up ten notches, my ears overpowered by the sudden pumping.
Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, buddy?” Dirk barks back at him, his hold tightening on me, and I try to squirm free, but I can’t move. Hell, I can barely even breathe.
Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
“Definitely not your buddy. Now, get your goddamn hands off her before I take them off myself.” He steps closer, right under one of the dim lights. “And I really don’t think you want that, now do ya, buddy?”
Dirk drops his hands as his eyes widen, his mouth opening as he registers just who it is he’s talking to. “Holy shit. You… You’re…”
Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
“Callum.”
His eyes snap to me, and it’s like being hit by a freight train. Everything—each soft touch and sweet kiss and whispered word—comes flooding back to me all at once. The edges of my vision blur, and I rest my hand on the sticky bar top, trying to keep myself upright.
He looks good. Too good. He’s put an easy fifteen pounds of muscle on his tall frame, and his light brown hair, which always felt like the world’s softest blanket when I ran my hands over it, lies neatly on top of his head.
His long-sleeved shirt is pushed up to show off his forearms, and though they’ve always been decorated in ink for as long as I can remember, it’s obvious they’re sporting new art.
It extends down to the backs of his hands, over his fingers, new additions that are far more attractive than I could have imagined.
And while the yellow-ish bruise on his cheek should draw more concern, all it does is make me want to reach over and trace my fingers across it, then maybe kiss it better.
He’s nothing and everything like I remember, and that thought makes it hard to breathe. Or maybe it’s just being near him again. Either way, I’m struggling to catch my breath, and I’m grateful when my host for the evening breaks the lingering tension.
“Wait a second,” Dirk says. “You know him?”
I nod, unable to take my eyes off the tattooed man before me. The man I’ve known for over a decade. The one who used to mean everything to me.
The one looking at me with such contempt that I can barely stomach it.
Fuck, here comes the pasta again, I think, choking down the urge to vomit.
Dirk laughs. “Well, shit. How come you didn’t tell me you know the Callum Keller? I told you the Seattle Serpents like to hang out here.”
“I, uh, I didn’t think he’d be here.”
Callum works his jaw back and forth, his nostrils flaring at my words, and I know it’s thanks to what they sound like: I was hoping he wouldn’t be here.
I was hoping I could sneak into the city and back out again without having to see him.
The worst part is I can’t even deny it. That is what I wanted.
I needed this to happen on my own terms, not on New Year’s Eve of all nights.
“That’s certainly something you’re allowed to bring up whenever. How do you guys know each other exactly?”
I swallow once, then again, and I don’t miss how Callum’s eyes drink me in. I don’t miss how they roam over every inch of my face, the way they linger on my lips, then the necklace sitting at the base of my throat.
And I really don’t miss how his jaw hardens and his lips set into a firm line, waiting for my answer.
“He’s my husband.”
Husband. The word feels so foreign on my tongue. I used to dream about the day I would get to call Callum that, but now? It feels…off.
I don’t have to be looking at Dirk to know shock is covering his face. It makes sense. I haven’t mentioned anything about a partner, let alone a husband, and I certainly didn’t mention that he plays professional hockey.
I dare a peek over at my potential future co-worker, and he takes a step backward at this news. “You, uh, you didn’t say you were married.”
Callum scoffs, and I swing my gaze back to him just in time to see him dragging his eyes away from the very empty spot on my left hand, right where his ring should be sitting but isn’t.
“I didn’t leave the information out on purpose.” I’m not sure whether I’m telling my husband or saying this to Dirk. “I just…”
But I don’t have a good explanation for not telling him. It’s not like I was trying to hide it intentionally. I just didn’t know how to explain it.
How am I supposed to tell people I walked away from the love of my life three years ago and have hardly spoken to him since?
Especially when there wasn’t some big scandal to go along with it?
He didn’t cheat, and I didn’t either. We just…
Well, I’m not exactly sure what we did, but I do know what was once a solid foundation crumbled so quickly that now I don’t have any idea how to put it back together.
“Well, I—” Dirk starts, but his words are cut off as the music suddenly dies and a loud screech fills the packed bar.
“Sorry about that,” someone says into a megaphone, and I turn to find someone standing atop the bar holding one.
“One minute to midnight, folks!” Everyone cheers.
“Grab your guys and grab your gals and get those lips ready because remember: the person you kiss at midnight is the one you’ll spend the year with! ”
Another roar of cheers courses through the bar, but I pay it no mind.
I’m far too busy staring at my estranged husband, who looks like he’s never been in more pain in his life.
My fingers itch to reach out and smooth the wrinkle that seems to be etched between his furrowed brows, but I remember I don’t have the privilege anymore, and worse, it’s my own fault.
We stand there for what feels like years, but really, it’s less than a minute before everyone begins to count.
“Ten!”
I jump at the surge of noise, taking my eyes off the man I haven’t seen up close in far too long for just a second, but it’s long enough because when I turn back around, he’s already leaving.
“Callum!” I call after him, but the word is swallowed by the crowd continuing their countdown.
“Nine!”
“Callum, wait. I—”
But he doesn’t wait, and he disappears before I’m even able to register it.
“Eight!” the crowd continues to chant, and it’s enough to get me to move.
“What the… Chloe!” Dirk’s hand circles my wrist, halting my movements. “Where are you going?”
I try to pull away, but he tightens his grip, his eyes darkening, and it causes my stomach to flip in the worst kind of way. “Let me go.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry. Really. I’ll call the paper tomorrow.”
His jaw hardens, and before he speaks his next words, I know this is going to affect things with Seattle Daily. “This isn’t how you conduct business, Ms. Harris.”
He says my maiden name disdainfully, and I regret ever using it to begin with.
“It’s Mrs. Keller,” I hiss before yanking my hand away, turning on my heel, and shoving my way through.
I try to follow Callum, but every step I take, I swear I get swallowed by more and more bodies.
“Callum!” I call out again, even though it seems pointless.
“Four!”
No, no, no, I chant to myself, using more force as I push forward, desperate to get to him.
“Three!”
“Callum!”
“Two!”
I can see the door swinging shut just a few feet away.
“One!” the crowd hollers just as I reach it, tossing it open so hard it bounces off the wall.
“Hey! What the fuck?” the security guard shouts, but I ignore him as I look left, then right, praying he’s still there.
Maybe this night isn’t complete shit, or maybe it’s because it is technically New Year’s Day—by some miracle, there he is.
“Callum!” I bellow again, and he pauses momentarily, but it’s enough to let me know he’s willing to hear me out if I can catch him.
So I run. I hike up my long dress, and I push my legs harder than I ever have before. I can’t let this be our reunion. I have to talk to him. I have to tell him I wasn’t trying not to see him, just that I wasn’t ready to yet.
“Callum, please,” I beg as I push myself harder, my heels clacking against the sidewalk as I try to close the distance between us that feels like it’s just getting bigger and bigger. “I just…” I draw in a deep breath. “Let me explain, okay? I need to talk to you. I need—”
“What?!” He whirls around so quickly I barely have time to skid to a stop.
In fact, I don’t. I stumble into him, his arms going around me, and though I’m sure it’s purely instinct, a part of me says it’s because he wants to touch me.
I hate the way my body reacts, like it’s falling into a pile of pillows as I sink into him. And I hate even more how he still smells just as he did all those years ago—like bodywash and expensive cologne and every single thing I’ve ever wanted.
But it’s gone as fast as it comes, and I’m standing on my own, Callum’s hands no longer on me. Instead he’s staring down at me with dark eyes.
“What do you need, Chloe?”
Chloe. Not Clover. Not babe. Not sweetheart. Not any of the other nicknames he’s used over the years.
Just Chloe.
I don’t want to be just Chloe to him.
“I…”
But nothing else comes out. All the words I know I should say get stuck in my throat.
It’s like every thought I’ve had over the last three years seems to dissipate right before my eyes, and I say nothing.
I stare up at him blankly, looking for anything that tells me we’ll be okay after this.
Tells me he’ll talk to me again. Tells me we’ll figure this thing out.
But there’s nothing. No hint of the man I fell in love with during my freshman year of college, or the one I married in a rushed ceremony because I couldn’t wait another day to be his wife.
He’s just Callum Keller, the Seattle Serpents’ most relentless and brutal power forward. He laughs, and the sound is scathing, as if he’s just dumped a steaming hot cup of coffee right on my heart.
“Of course you don’t have the words. You don’t have an explanation. You didn’t then, and you don’t now. Yet you still come into my city with some fuckwad and you—”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “No, it’s not—”
“Stop!” he yells, so damn loudly the word bounces off the buildings, and a few passersby turn their heads our way.
Tears spring to my eyes, and I can’t tell if they’re from the fact that he’s never talked to me this way before, if I’m embarrassed, or if I’m just finally breaking down.
“Just stop,” he continues, more quietly, but his words are just as harsh. “I don’t want to hear it, okay? I don’t want your excuses. Not tonight. Especially not fucking tonight.”
I’m sure he’s thinking of the last time we were together on New Year’s Eve. I’m sure it’s a night both of us wish we could forget for good.
“Callum, I—”
He shakes his head and shoves his hands into his pockets, putting distance between us that I want to close so damn desperately, but I don’t know how. “I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t, okay? Go back inside, Chloe, and leave me alone.”
Then he turns, doing the same thing I did to him three years ago tonight.
He walks away.